Bonners Ferry herald. [volume], January 13, 1906, Image 4

About Bonners Ferry herald. [volume] (Bonners Ferry, Idaho) 1904-current

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m
His Heart's Desire
By SIR WALTER BESANT
CHAPTER XL—(Continued.! |
David sat doggedly. He had always
HIs uncle !
been dogged and obstinate,
looked at him curiously, as If studying
his character.
"David," he said presently, "you were
a bad boy at acbool, where they ought
to hire (logged it out of you. You were
a had son to your father, who ought to
have cut you off with a shilling. You
were a bad farmer when you got your
farm. If I hadn't taken your land, s
Now It's
1
e
stranger would hare had it.
kept in the family. Years ago 1 thought
to give you a lesson, and if you reform
ed. to give It back to you In my will,
now perceire that you are one of tho
who nerer reform. I have left It—else
,** said David, "I like to hear
where."
"Go (
Jnir talk
"The old house at Berry—your old
house—is turned Into two cottages. One
of th
to slay in the parish, you can lire In It
if you like, rent free, for a tlm
until you get into
cottages is empty. If you mean
»rk again or I find
If you choose to earn money,
■ re always Jobs to be
If you will not
Now that la all
When you are tired
that is,
■ tenant,
you can; th
done by a handy man.
work, you must starve.
I will do for you.
of Ohaliacombe, you can go away again.
That is my last word, nephew." He turn
ed «way, and began to busy himself
■ gain among his papers.
"After the accident aud the loss of
those papers you were senseless for three
days. And after that you got paralysis.
Why. what was all that, but a Judg
ment on you for your conduct to your
own flesh and blood?"
"Rubbish !"
David «aid no mors,
quninted with him would have under
stood from the expression of his face that
his mind wan laboriously grappling with
a subject not yet clear to hlm. He was,
In fact, Just beginning to be aware of a
very foxy game which he might play
with hi« uncle, though aa yet he only
dimly «aw the nil
was
own invention, and
the name time greatly please aud stimu
late hi« uncle, whom he meant to be hi«
adversary. He fluid nothing
he ant doggedly and tried to work out
the rules of that game.
Presently Mary came homo from
church, and with her George Sidcote and
Will. They found David sitting with
bis uncle, but the old man waa reading
the paper, and David waa silent, think
ing slowly.
"Mary," said David, "you don't re
member me, I a appose?"
"Yen are my couhIu David. Of courte
I remember you, David, though you are
altered a good deal." She gave him her
hand. "All the people are talking about
your return."
Then George and William «kook hands
with him cheerfully and brotherly.
"Why, David," «aid George, "we must
rig you out a little better than this. Come
home
beat ac
Tlu
if that game. It
« new game, too, quite one of his
a which would at
ore, hut
1th Will and ms."
David turned sullenly lo his uncle.
"I've ons more thing to any. All of
y»u may hear what that is. He offers
ms a laborer's cottage to live in. and a
laborer's work to do. and a laborer's wage
to pay, on my own lands—my owu that
he stole, this old man here, sitting struck
by a judgment In his chair. The next
time I com# her«—you may all take no
tice and bear witness—ths question may
not be how little l may be offered, but
how much 1 shall take."
Bo far had he got In his understand
ing of the gams that was to be played.
Ith a
"How much," he repeated, w
"how much ehsll l take."
cbuckl
"Dear me!" said U!« uncle.
Will? When did you come down? And
how is your wrlllsg business? Taks Da
vid away. George; 1 am afraid you'll
find him very tedious—very tedious in
deed."
"Thie le
CHAPTER XII.
We took David away with ua; but the
old man wa« right; he was Insufferably
tedious. To begin with, his mind seem
ed absorbed: he answered our questions
shortly, and showed no curiosity or In
terest in ue. and pretended no pleasure
at seeing ua again; hs waa lumpish and
moody.
"Mother," seid George, "Fve brought
David Leighan to diuuer. He came home
las: uight."
The old lady gava him her hand, with
out the least sppsarauce of surpris» that
David bad returned iu >o tattered a con
dition.
"You are welcome, David." ah« said.
"You will t«ll us aftar dinner some of
your adventure». 1 bop« you ar« come
to »«ttle again among your own people."
"My own people," he said, "hav« b««n
kind that 1 am lik«ly to ««ttle again
among them."
"I will tak« David upstairs, mother,"
•aid Georg«, "for a fuw minute«; then
«hall be ready."
Wheu they cam« downstair« David pre
sented a Hule more of hl« old appear
There remained a certain slouch
hlch suggested th« tramp,
. 1
auce.
Ing manner
and the sidelong look, half of suspicion,
half of design, which is also common to
the tramp; but *a yet we knew nothing
of hia past lif« and adventure«.
When he waa dressed he ««t down to
dinner. Then il wa» that we made a
very painful discovery. Our friend, we
fonni, had entirely forgotten the elm
pleut rule« of
isai that lie nuikt have gone
down very lo v indeed in the «oclal «cale
in order to get at those habit«
be now exhloittd. Were they acquired
in the Pacific, or in Australia, or iu
America, where, a« w« afterward learn
ed. David had «pent hi« year* of exile?
I think in nans of these place«. He lost
hi« manners because he had lost his self
respect, which Is « very different thing
from losing four money. During the op
eration of taking his food he said noth
ing.
gnd he ate mough for six men.
After dinner George snd I took chairs
with us. an 4 »at In the old-fashioned gar
den of Ridiote, under a gnarled and an
cient apple tre«.
liner», the very simplest.
k/Kterlcal
hlch
did he reply if he
as addressed;
"Our David," I said, "was always in
clined to hi. loutish. He has been devel
aping and cultivating that gift for »iz
fears—with a pleating result.**
"There is someth ing on hie mlud."
•aid Oeergi.
prhat it ie. perhaps not.
sever particularly open about himself.
Btrange that he nhould begin by looking
for hie uncl/s grave! Why did he think
diet he waw dead?"
"He believed what he hoped, no
Vmbt"
"In the »vening. Harry Kabjsh&« tells
few Ue h» t a kind g / fil
"Perhapa he will tell ua
David
was
!
fit of laughing and crying—la the lun."
"That was perhop» bscaus« he had
learned that his uncle was still alive."
• indeed the case, though not In j
j
This
cursing his uncle. After six years he
comes back cursing him again. When s
man broods over n wrong for six years.
mischief does generally follow.
all. ths old man will do nothing for him
Do you understand that? There wns s
r-hilv he list
the sense 1 intended.
"And this morning, the first day of his
return, he begins with a row with his |
Well, there is going to bs mi«
uncle,
chief st Gratnor."
"Why. what mischief can there be?"
"I don't know.
Da rid went away
I
solid obstinacy In his eye
eued to David. Nothing Is to be got out
of him. What will David do?"
"He will go away again. 1 suppose,
work."
First of
unless he lakes fa
"David Is as obstinate as his uncle,
And he is not altogether a fool. There
(■chief.**
"George, old man, I return to my old
thought. If you aud Mary marry with
out old Dan'« consent, her fortune goes
to David. Does David know?"
will be
"I should tnlnk not."
'To which of the two would the obi
man prefer to hand over that money ?"
"To Mary, certainly."
"So 1 think. Then don't you see that
some good may come out of tho business
after all?"
"It may come, but too late to s«
Ridcote. He ineaua to have Sidcote.
Well, it is a
My
day« here ara numbered,
pity after five hundred years"—he look
ed around at the inheritance about to
pass «way from him—only a fa
three hundred acres, but his father'» and
his great-grandfather's—and he was fi
lent for a moment. "A« for
would l grudge if I could keep the old
place! But I know that over at G rat nor
there sit«, watching and waiting his
chance, the man who means to have my
land, aud will have it before the end of
the year."
"t'aliènes, George. Anything may
happen."
"lie ia a crafty and a dangerous man,
Will. Ws can say here what we cannot
say In Mary's presence. He i* more
crafty and more dangerous now that he
is paralysed and cannot get about among
his Kehl« than he was la the old days.
He cannot get at me by ths same arts
he employed for David. He cannot
persuade me to drink, and to «igu agree
ment« mid borrow money. But the bad
times have done for me what drink did
for David."
So we talked away the afternoon In a
rather gloomy spirit. Life Is no more
free from «harks in the country than in
the town; there are in Arcadia, na well
as in London, vultures, beast«, and birds
of prey, who ait and watch their chance
to rend the helpless.
"And ao," he said, summing up. "1
shall have to part with the old family
place, and begin in the world again: go
out «« David went out. and return, per
haps. as he returned."
"No, George; some things are possible,
but not probable. That you should come
back as David has corns back ia not pos
sible."
At that moment the man of whom we
spoke came slowly out of the house, rub
bing his eyes.
"When you are among the blacks,"
he «aid, "you never get enough to eat."
"What are you going to do now you
are come home. David?"
*T will tell you, George. In a day or
two. The old man says he will do noth
ing for m
He's turned the old farm house at Berry
into two cottages, mid the buildings are
falling to pieces. Says 1 can take up
my quarters in one of the cottages, if I
like; that is liberal, isn't it? And I am
to earn my living how 1 can; that's gen
trous, isn't It?"
"Try conciliation. David."
"No, Will; 1 think I know a better
plan than conciliation."
»f
'»rk.
ha
'
to that presently.
CHATTER XIII.
This was «II that David told as. Wt
iiw, indetd, very little of him after tin*
day. He took what we gave him without
a word of thauke, aud he did aot pre
tend the leaat interest in either of ue or
our doing« or our welfare. Yet he had
known both of ua all hia life, and he waa
but five or «iz years older. A streng«*
return! Knowiug now all that 1 know.
I am certain that be wae daaed and con
founded, first at finding his uncle allre,
and next at the reception he met with.
He waa thinking of these thing« and of
that new plan of hit, yet imperfect, by
which he could wreak revenge upon hia
uncle. This made him appear duller and
more stupid than was his nature.
We «at waiting for more experience«,
but none came. How. for instance,
would hare been pleased to inquire, came
an honest Devonshire man to consort
with a gang of fellows who had all
"done something." and were roving aud
tramping about the country ready to do
something else. Before David lost hie
head be used to drink, but not with
aud tramps. Yet now he confess
ed without any shame to having been
their companion
himself, and the associate of rogues. By
what process does a man descend eo low
in the short «pace of t
as to Join such a company? I looked cu
rluusly at his face; it wi
and bronzed, but there was
revel« th
look.
' a
tramp and vagabond
or Ihre« week»
weather beaten
further
in the lowering and moody
"I darv say," h« one« said, "that you
wer« surprised when 1 came to look for
bis grave?"
"It is not usual." I said, "to aik for
the grave» of living men."
"1 was so certain that he wa» dead,*
he explained, "that I never thought to
a»k. Quite certain I was; why"—her«
he «topped abruptly—*T wa» au certain
that I wua going to ask what It was he
died of. Y
wa» killed."
"You said some one told you that ho
was dead. Who was that?"
"I will tell you now—not that you will
believe me; but It is true. H« told me
himself that he was dead."
"I do not ear. David, that thl« 1« Im
posRible, because men may do anything.
Permit me to remark, however, that you
wert in America, and your unci« was in
England. That must have made It diffi
cult for your uncle to talk with you."
'That la eo," he replied. "What I
mean Is. that every night—It began af
ter Td been in New York and got
through ray money—every night, after I
went to sleep, hie ghost uaed to cqme and
•it on my bed. *D«vld,' he said. 'I'm
dead.' A lot more he said that you don't
home
'David, 1*11 never lear.'
i you m peace until you do come home»' he
; I wanted to know how he
f quick.' he said.
I want to hear.
'David, com#
•»Id. Bvery night, mind yoo. Not one*
now and again, but every h-gbt That'»
the reaaon why I came borna. The ghost
has left off coming Dow."
"This I» truly wonderful."
"What did bed o It for?" asked David,
angrily. "He'd got my land. Well, aa
for—as for—what happened, ray score
wasn't paid off by that,"
"What did happen?"
"Never mind. He'd got my land still;
and I was a tramp. What did he want
to get by It?"
"You don't mean, David, that your
uncls deliberately haunted yoo every
night? No one ever heard of a living
i man's ghost haunting another living mao.
A dead man'a ghost may haunt a tiring
! man, perhaps, though 1 am not prepared
at
I
to hnek that »latement with any sxpsrl
encei of my own. Perhaps, too, a living
j man's ghost rosy haunt « dead man; that
j would be only fair. Turn and turn about.
But for a live uncle to haunt
you sse.
| « hv# nephew—no, David, no."
"Ha la crafty enough fur anything.
I don't cars who done it." said David,
"it wna done. Every night it was dona.
And that's why 1 came home again.
And since he's fetched tue homa
a
fool's errand, he's got to keep me."
I "But it wasn't his fault that the ghost
Man alive! he wauted his own
ghost for himself. Cousider, he couldn't
get on without If!"
"He brought me home, and he's got
to keep me," said Da rid, doggedly. Then
he slowly slouched away.
"Me Is going to the inn," said George.
"Will, there is something uncanny about
the man. Why should he hare this hor
rible haunting dream erery night?"
"Remorse for a crime Vrhlch he wished
he had committed, perhaps. Au odd com
bination. but possible. If he had mur
dered his oncle he might hare been
haunted In this way. Wishes he had
murdered him, you see. Imagination
ppliea the rest."
(To t»e continued.)
came.
WALKED 6.000 MILES IN YEAR.
lluftiiiraeiMi
Who Performed the b'Mit
KmIIj.
On Jan. 1, 1003. I conceived the id©«
of walking 5,000 miles before the ex
piration of the year, says a writer in
Outing. The object wna not to achieve
any unusual feat nor to accomplish any
coiiHpicioiiM performance. The under
lying motive was, rather, lo Insure a
plan by which regular and systematic
exercise could lie obtained.
To travel this distance it waa neces
sary to cover an average of 14 miles
Now, 14 miles for a day's walk
is well within the compass of the ordi
nary man. Hut an occasional walk of
this length 1 h one thing, the sustained
effort, day after day through the year,
is another.
Let me answer the question by say
ing that at the end of the year I had
completed a distance on foot of 5.206
miles, s dally average of 14*4 miles.
The stipulated 5.000 mile« were fin
ished on Dec. 1ft, hut an additional 200
miles were covered In order that each
of the 62 weeks of the year might
claim an average distance traversed of
100 miles.
I
a Uiij,
1 set out uimn my enterprise with the
is Incumbent upon
knowledge that It
me to maintain a dally average of 14
miles, and I made It a rule, whan prac
ticable. of keeping about the average,
so as lo have
imelniiig in hand to
meet the çmergencle» which were al
most certain to «rise. That they did
arise was shown by the fact that (or
15 ilayi In the year, owing to sick
ness. lameness and railway traveling,
no walking whatever could be Indulged
In. The Inability to utilize theae 15
days was equal lo a lose of over 200
miles. It will, therefore, be seen that,
under the circumstances named. It wa*
Imperative on many occasions, to ex
ceed the distance of 14 miles a day
In order to preserve the average.
At the beginning of my walk my
weight waa 192 pound» in atreet
clothes, while at the end of It my
weight whs 178 pounds. This los» of
14 pounds was In every way accepta
ble. The avoirdupois lost waa only re
dundant weight, and I fclL as a result,
more active, stronger and harder. In
the matter of health, 1 felt decidedly
better than I had done for several
To»«th»r, Ac
The habit of taking cheese with snL
ad Is, according to the host authorities. 1
wholly American In origin, any» th* 1
New York Bun. The French mnks
yea re.
CHEESE AND SALAD.
or
of
do
Should They 1)e Kat
contins: to the Custom.
cheese a special course at the end of
the meal, following the dessert. |
In England It la served after cof
fee, ns a sort of savory, although
does not take altogether the place of (
the heavy cooked savories, which are
sometimes a surprise when they are
put on a table after a long dinner. As
salad in England, when a typical Eng« |
lish meal la served, has oo dresting
on it, it can scarcely be taken into
The American habit of taking the
good
count here
ltd
cheese with the
enough to Americans, although parsons
In the habit of eating In the French
way complain very bitterly that the
two courtes do not go well together
and In fact are fairly sure to spoil
each other. To American taste the
cheese Is very much better with the
salad than th* salad served whh the
chicken, as the French Invariably serve
It
The best plans seem ts be for fam
ily dinner« to «erre two plates with
the «sind and cheese, «o that th« per
son who want« both may not have the
salad tawte in the chceee and vice
to
he
ho
me
in
I
af
got
I
he 1 ly « lodger.—Chicago Journal.
Except lu the cnee of Uamem
verM.
• I'evequ« and eotue of tho
finer cheeses, the taste of cheese doe«
not mingle badly with that of ealad.
The old-Urne nuisance of making the
toasted crackers taste of cheese by
spreading a thin layer of cheeeo over
the English water cracker after it had
been toasted is no longer necessary.
They are mode now. ready to eat as
toon as they are taken fron« the box.
thin crisp crackers covered wver with
a delicate and thin layer of cbeeee
They are usually better than the
home-made article, because the.crack
ers are thinner than tLe amateur can
make them and crisper than any ordi
nary took can toeet tbm without
horning.
he
N*t a Cepltellet.
Lodj—Wh«f? f oh't* Juet rom» otit
of prison? I wonder yon
neha med to own it.
ere not
Ne'er-do-W*ll Well. 1 don't own It
lady—I only wish I did I ■»»» m.re
were standing
just outside the engine-room of the
Sidney street ferry Florence. The sub
Ject was Introduced by the passage of
tire steamer Cape Girardeau on her
southern trip. The first speaker was
Oliver O. Richey, bead engineer of the
Florence. The second man was Cap
tain Jesse T. Jamison, aged 74. retired
river man. Captain Jamison was chief
pilot on the Robert E. Tee from Cairo
to St. I.ouis In her spectacular race
with the Natchez, July 8-4, 1870. He
WHEN A PILOT WAS KING.
Story of a (.mil Mtep.mboat Rare
Ike Mlaalgiilppi.
"The Girardeau's bluin' a good lick
to-night."
"Hub! Twelve miles an hour at tin*
best. And down stream at that. They
don't make boats to run these days."
A long train of freight cars crawled
noisily along the crest of the stone
levee. The man who had referred to
the steamer turned and looked ttercely
at the snorting locomotive.
"What's the use?" he asked, Indicat
Ing the remorseless rival of the river.
"None on earth," returned the other.
"But In Its day the Ilobert E. Lee was
Iftest thing that
through the 'daddy of waters.' Ah!
There was a boat! Six high-pressure
I .oilers, triple steel engines, a tiller that
obeyed a whisper and a prow like an
eagle! Nothing that moved could throw
*),.•
er cut
smoke on her deck!"
Tw<
ancient marine)
"I never «aw two bargee emptied
quicker. The coal heavers swarmed
over them like ants ami the coal melt
ed away almost while the passengers
and baggage were being rushed across
the planks.
"That was on the morning of the 3d.
Enoch and 1 never saw a bed until
noon the next day. The fog shook
j hands with us at Devil's Island. We
j supposed us a matter of course the
I Natchez would tackle It, and we never
I thought of doing anything else. At
j that stage of the game a blowup
i wouldn't have been worse than to have
j trailed In behind.
''The uncertainty of that night tam
my hair gray. We hadn't a ghost
of an Idea where the other boat
and dreaded every moment that we'd
j hear her plowing through the gloom
j ahead of us."
j "That's what you'd 'a' heard If J.
Bennett had been there," said Richey,
j as be looked out the side window to
see how close they were getting to the
St. Clair wharf, "He'd a made you
ducks look like roustabounts on a sand
flat. Jack was an engineer, a born en
glneer, but he was the crosscut man I
ever saw. When ho got In dead
est bis room was hot enough to run the
engines withont-the boilers."
"Andy Pauly, wasn't slow," Insisted
| the other steersman, "but be was sate,
Still, we thought he'd run that fog and
current In long, oblique slices same's If
I
j
j
|
j P( j
> S
'
we kept a-goiu' upstream, cuttlu' the
P
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SC2
THE RIVER STEAMER ROBERT B. LEE.
Is sturldly built, alert, eagle-eyed—a
typical rlverman of the old days. His
Initial appearance In a wheelhouse was
made on the Saille West lu 18-15. He
quit the river eight years ago because
of an Injury received on land.
Richey Is n stall, smooth-shaven man,
whose 88 years hang lightly on hts
stalwart frame. He has absorbed
health from the American Nile, by way
of the marine engine room, for fifty
three years. Every old engineer, pilot
and captain on the lower Mississippi Is
s thumb-marked book to these gray
veterans.
There was a clash of small bells In
the center of the room and Richey
Jumped to the polished wheel that
sends the steam Into the Florence's
cylinders. The big wheel astern began
making cataracts and snow showers
as the ferry's nose bumped against the
to
15
of
re
In
current.
"If the Natchez people had put John
Bennett In the engine room," said
Richey, after he had things going right
the crossing, "you folks
couldn't kept In sight of the Natohoz'
stern lights.
more out of her engines than the butld
,» r s believed was In them. There wasn't
Ibis equal on Uie river at any time, but
[ le w(ls as f re tful as a mud turtle In a
1 f r y|„* p nn . Guess that's why they
th* 1 didn't take him along."
to make
Bennett could have got
"Andy Pauly was ail right," said the
of 0 j ( j pilot, "and he knew his machinery
| |||ge a good little boy does hl» Sunday
Bc hool lesson, but he didn't like to take
it'chances. He was careful."
of ( "That's Just what beat 'em. When
are B rnan takes a hand in a boat race he
are wants to keep movin' and leave the
As consequences to Providence."
| "You bet; we'd 'a'run that fog if
we'd 'a' kuown Uncle Charou was
ae*.waitin' for us midway," said Jamison
I grimly. "When It began dropping
the down on us as we shot by Davll's Isl
and. Enoch—my pard in the wheel
| house, Enoch King—turned to me and
the
the
the
the
■aid:
"•We'll cut right through It, Jesse?'
" 'Of course,' 1 said.
"You could have knocked me down
with the wing of a butterfly when 1
beard the other fellows had tied up.
They bad been holding on like a bull
dog to a book agent clear up to Cairo,
and wheu Enoch and I were wafted
out Into midstream on a coal scow to
hunt easy water (or the Robert L. Into
St. Louis we could look down the bend
and see the Natchez' smoke filling the
»lr like the battle of Waterloo. The
river theu between Cairo and St. L.
comprised about 200 miles of Uie
toughest piloting you ever saw around
these parts anywhere. There wasn't a
light bouse from end to end of the
run aud there were stings, bars and
operhanglug trees enough to discour
age » pilgrim ghost Jim Pell and
West Conners, who bad steered all the
way cut of New Orleans, were ns
tickled as schoolboys to see us. You
see they had only studied the river to
Louisville and were sent down by rail
{to take the racer into Uie terminal.
"Captain William Holliday of Cairo
had telegraph orders from Memphis to
meet the Lee at Bird's point, st the
mouth of ths Ohio, with s couple of
barges of cost A tug was attached
I to each barge and the fuel supply was
1 unloaded on each side of the big steam
per
the
tho
the
by
had
as
the
can
otit , r 0 n th» fly,
The Loalevllle paesru
not | 9r , had to walk th» gangplank on to
th» jumpln coal flat«. It wa* a bit ln
It tereatiu' (or the ladles, who regarded
it a , Te ry ungallanL but the Le» didn't
have Um» to be polit» that day.
the devil was ebasin' us. We were
drawing six feet and kept the leads
men on the for'eas'le all through the
night. When the fog lifted toward
mornln' and there wasn't any Natchez
In sight we began to breathe. The old
boat was keeplu' up her gait beauti
fully aud we knew nothing that wades
could beat us Into St. Louie."
"The Natchez was the best boat,"
said Richey, as he closed down the
steam In obedience to the excitement
of the bells.
"Why didn't she beat theu?"
"I told you why."
"Humph! Guess you think the en
gineer's the whole tiling."
"He Is in a boat race."
"Much racing be could do if
didn't hunt easy water for him. About
fifteen miles below town we sighted a
fleet of steamers and tugs that had
come down to meet us. There was the
Harry Johnson, the Eagles and every
crack boat that happened to he at the
St. Louie wharf at the time. Before
we got back up the river with every
we got to them they turned around and
beaded back up the river with every
ounce of steam they could carry. We
beat 'em to town—everyone of 'em—
so far we lost sight of 'em."
"That was the Fourth of July?" re
marked the engineer.
"The Fourth of July, 1870," replied
the pilot, solemnly.
"On a celebration day a man's eye
sight ain't always good."
"I didn't have a drop that dayl" said
the steersman, Indignantly.
"No! Well, let's liquidate now. The
Lee was a good boat—a bully good
boat. Here's to her memory. And
here's to the Natchez—the peer of 'em
all!"
we
Csptalns Cannon and Leathers and
Pilot Enoch King are dead. Jamison,
Klng'a comrade In the Lee's wheel
house from Cairo to St. Louis, lives
3760 Easton avenue, this city. Both
Jamison and Richey run the river
when Mark Twain was a pilot and au
thor, with whom they were well ae
qualnted.—St. Louia correspondence
Cblcago Chronicle.
The race between the Lee and the
Natchez from New Orleans to St. Louis
created the most Intense excitement In
the Mississippi Valley. Bonfires blazed
from the river banks by night and can
non thundered by day along the entire
course.
The boats were apparently well
matched and the rivalry had been
keen (or a long time. At last It hap
pened both were scheduled to leave
New Orleans at the same time and
their captains agreed ou a race to Bt.
Louis.
The following paragraph is from
Mark Twain's "Life on the Mississip
pi;"
The steamer left the wharf of the
souUiern city at 4:55 p. m. June 30,
1870. The Lee arrived in St. Louis at
11:25 a, m., July 4. three days, eighteen
hours and fourteeu minutes out of New
Orleans, six hours aud thirty-six min
utes ahead of the Natchez. The officers
of tlie Natchez claimed seven hours
aud one minute stoppage on account of
fog and for repairing machinery. The
Leo was commanded by Captain John
W. Cananou and tho Natchez was In
charge of that veteran southern boat
man, Captain Thomas T*. Leathers.
It's a little singular that the result
of the race never changed the minds
of the Natchez's friends as to her capa
bilities. They sturdily Insisted that
she could beat the Lee Iu a walk
she had "a (air show."
I
•*•*+++++++++•{•+++
fi»
GOOD
Short Q. tories
X
- „ -
If Nelson was not an author he at
least enriched the language with one
reported,
great, though diversely
phrase. He was one day talking to
Mrs. Swinburne, of Harasterly, and the
conversation turned on Frenchmen. "I
never see a Frenchman. Mrs. Swin
burne," said Nelson, "without shiver- 1
lug from head to foot."
A colored undertaker was requested
to embalm the body of a colored man.
The wife of the deceased asked what
the cost would be. He named his usual ,
charge, to which she quickly replied:
"I think that's too much." "But It is i
the regular fee," protested the under- j
taker. "That may be," assented the ;
widow, "but this ain't a regular corpse.
My husband hud a wooden leg."
A red-headed man one night raked
up enough courage to propose to a girl
with whom he was very deeply and sin
cerely In love. She replied to his suit
sad voice: "I'm very sorry,
George, hut I could never marry any
one with red hair." "That Is nothing,"
said her suitor, "my barber tells me
that at the rate my hair is falling out
I'll be completely bald lu two years."
Bishop Bloomfield, of England, dis
covered one day, as he entered the pul
pit, he had forgotten the manuscript of
his sermon. He was obliged to preach
extempore, taking for his theme the
existence of God. As he walked home
he overtook one of his congregation,
whose opinion of the sermon he in
vited. "Well, It were a very good ser
mon." was the reply, "but I don't agree
wl' IL I believe Jhcre is a God."
The number of Joneses In Wales Is
Illustrated by a story told of a certain
Oxford college, much resorted to by
Welshmen. A man from another col
lege went Into Its "quad" In search of
a friend, and called "Jones!" All the
windows looking on the "quad" flew
open. "1 want John Jones," said the
man. Half the windows closed. "I
mean the John Jones who has got a
toothbrush." All the windows closed
hut oue.
In
A Christian Brahmin was preaching
the gospel in the Deccan, when a Hin
doo In the congregation began vehe
mently to contradict. In good Oriental
fashion the sermon was Immediately
suspended, and the disputants retired
to u garden to settle the point at their
leisure. The substance of the debate
was this; "You declare God to be In
finite," said the Hindoo. "Yes." "What
is the meaning of Infinite?" "It means
limitless." "And what part of speech
Is good?" "Good Is an adjective."
"And what 1s the grammatical func
tion of an adjective?" "To limit a
noun." "How then do you apply an
adjective to God, calling Him good,
and thus limiting the limitless?"
In the early days, when the people
sent their wisest men to make the pub
lic laws, a man of peculiar traits, but
of sterling worth, was sent to the State
Legislature from a small Eastern
town. He wore an old-fashioned rustic
costume, which was sadly out of place
In the legislative hall, where some of
the fastidious statesmen vied with
each other In the correctness of their
attire. Soon after his arrival one of
the representatives called out to him;
"Have you no smarter men than you
to send to tho Legislature from your
district?" The man smiled Innocently,
as he replied: "There's a heap o'
smarter meu up my way, but the devil
of it is they halu't got no clothes good
enough to wear down here."
a
re
POPULAR BELIEFS.
'ignorance
fi» fhe Law
day Occurrences.
In Every.
It Is an American predilection to be
lieve tho outre and freakish stories
that are based solely on hearsay testi
mony and to reject often tho com
monplace matters of fact. A list of
the cheerful lies that are commonly
believed would fill a volume. Only a
few of them are given below;
How often have you been Inflicted
with the story of the man who was
overpaid when cashing a cheek at the
hunk, and the cashier telling him that
no mistakes would be corrected after
the customer left the window-7 Ac
cording to the story, the cashier laid
down the mandate before he knew the
mistake waa In his favor. It makes an
excellent yarn, but diligent search dis
closes that It never had any founda
tion In fact. Banks have no such rule.
If a customer is underpaid or overpaid
the mistake will appear when the bal
ance is struck at the end of the day's
business, and the error will he cheer
fully rectified. But the majority of tile
public believes the fictitious story of
"bow the fellow got the best of the
hank" simply because It Is a good story
and they like to believe It.
Probably the most common error
the part of the public is the belief that
when a dead body Is found no one has
a right to touch or move the remains
"until the coroner comes." There never
was any such law. Is not now and
probably never will be. The citizen
who Is of an Inquiring turn of mind
has a perfect right to examine dead
bodies he runs across In the course of
his travels, to move the remains and
even search the pockets of the de
ceased, provided, of course, that his
motives are honest. That la all that Is
necessary.
There Is also a prevalent belief that
a note signed or contract entered Into
on Sunday Is void aud that either par
ty can plead the fact of the sacred day
to get out of a bad bargain. This Is
not true. If a man enters Into a con
tract or slgijs a note on Sunday he is
legally bound and can have no de
fenses that he would not have If the
transaction bad occurred la the mld
and die of the week.
bouse wheu I struck this man," says
at, the defendant In police court. He bo
Both j lleves that his proximity to bis castle
river gives him more rights thau he would
au- j have If he were In the street. This
ae- belief has been the cause of much can
; tankerous litigation, and It has ever re
the
In
and
Bt.
the
30,
at
of
The
In
that
If
"I had my back against my own
suited lu the ruling that a man has a
right to defeud himself In a reasonable
muur.er If he Is attacked, whatever
may be his geographical position, and
the Incidental contiguity of his home
"cuts no ice" In the case.
Doctors agree that the public Is
wrong In the popular conception that
burglars sometimes chloroform the In
mates of a bouse before committing a
robbery. The usual story Is that the
anaesthetic was squirted into the sleep
ln K room through keyholes. A Kansas
City surgeon who has had occasion to
or ether 500
times says that chloroform admlnls
administer chloroform
tered In this manner would put a
quietus on the burglar, as well as the
have
Inmates of a home.
Pbyslcla
tried many times to administer chloro
form to sleeplitg persons, and have met
with very poor results. The first effect
of an anaesthetic Is not to lull to in
sensibility, but to arouse all the men
tal ami physical vigor of the person to
whom It Is given.
The public has great confidence In
the magic No. 3, and without any rea
sonable basis for the belief. It Is com
monly believed that If a drowning per
son sinks for a third time he Is gone
for good and all. The facts contradict
this. Many persons die on the first
sinking, and If oue has the strength
and the vitality to rise to the surface
of the water twice It furnishes an ex
cellent presumption that he will be
able to do so again. In an eddy or
rapidly-moving waters people have
sunk from sight a half (dozen times
and lived to tell the experience to their
grandchildren.
Then there Is the third congestive
chill, commonly believed to be fatal.
Most people who die from this cause
succumb to the first or second attack.
If a man succeeds In weathering two
of them the odds are In favor of his
coming out victor In the third. Almost
every community possesses a citizen
who boasts the fact that he has a sli
ver plate In his skull. Surgeons say
that very tew attempts were ever
made at such an operation, and all of
them were failures. There does not
exist a man who has a silver plate In
his skull, although many men honest
ly believe that they are carrying this
species of paraphernalia In their cranl
ums. The bone of the skull cannot
live and be healthy In the presence of
a foreign body. It Is said by surgeons
to he a physical Impossibility, but this
serves In no way to overcome the com
mon and erroneous belief.
The medical fraternity has another
false belief to combat In cases of
"shingles." The disease consists of a
skin eruption always following affect
ed nerves, and commonly appearing on
the body. It Is a very common belief
that If the "shingles" completely sur
round the body and strike a meeting
point the patient will die Instantly.
The belief Is untrue. — Kansas City
Journal.
AN UMBRELLA INTERVIEW.
Russell Suae
Newspaper Man's Bxckssge.
In an article on "Writing for a Liv
ing" In The World's Work, Gilson Wll
lets tells the following anecdote of a
memorable Interview with Russell
Sage:
In that early morning of my writing
life and In the evening of my day I
Interviewed Russell Sage. The editor
who gave me the assignment had said:
"Persistence and Impudence will do
It." I rang the bell at No. 506 Fifth
avenue. Mrs. Sage opened tho door
and behind her I saw the gaunt form
of Mr. Sage. "Well, well, what Is It?"
he asked, rubbing his hands as If they
were chilly. I told him what I want
ed and he replied: "You must excuse
me." Putting on his weather-beaten
derby he added; "1 am going out."
I told him that I would go out with
him. He smiled as be buttoned his
faded overcoat and stepped out. It
was raining. I asked him to take my
umbrella, tor It was larger than his,
and as we turned Into Forty-second
street we exchanged umbrellas. He
was going, he said, "Just down tho
street" to Dr. Paxton's Presbyterian
church to prayer meeting,
church door he said: "Good evening!
We part here."
But I, too, went Into prayer meeting.
When Mr. Sage bowed his head so did
The meeting over, I rejoined him
at the church door. I had prayed In
that meeting and now
were answered,
back through the rain to his house,
Bussell Sage answered my questions
"for publication."
the exchange of umbrellas and the
skeleton of his umbrella Is still In my
attic.
"Free-I.si
At the
I.
my prayers
For, as we walked
Wo both forgot
The Power of «be Pre...
The value of newspaper publicity 1»
both Indicated and Impugned In the
story below, which comes from Mad
ame:
The man who approached the edi
tor's desk was visibly excited.
"It's all through your wretched pa
per!" he spluttered.
"What's the matter now?" asked the
editor, without looking up from his
leader on the Chinese boycott, for he
was used to excited gentlemen.
"Why, you stated the day before
yesterday that a thief had entered my
room, broken open my desk and stolen
a sum of money, but that fortunately
he had overlooked the gold
which usually lies In the lower small
drawer."
"Well," said the editor, "weren't the
(acts stated correctly?"
"Correctly?" the excited gentleman
repeated, derisively. "Yes.
Just the trouble. The man came again
last night aud took my watch, and
he'd never have known where It
If you hadn't told him."
John Hay'« Humor.
It Is said that the late John Hay
was once the subject of a cane presen
tation. and stood while the spokesman
of the donors made a speech that ran
Into an elaborate oration.
A friend afterward commented to tho
diplomatist on the length of the
speech.
"Yes." replied Hay, "he didn't want
me to have the cane till I really need
ed It."
watch
That's
was
»ome VI niai o riloaofr,
Th' mon that tell» yez not f worry
ha» eyther got through wld a job
uv worryln' or la about t' begin ut-—
Baltimore American.
a